


Polyfidelitous

by hobbitdragon, Thaxted



Series: Sweet Thing 'verse [2]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Childhood Trauma, Commitment, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, F/M, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyfidelity, Rope Bondage, parents are people too, which means sometimes they're Hot Messes too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 05:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thaxted/pseuds/Thaxted
Summary: Polyamory negotiations, commitment, and insecurities.





	Polyfidelitous

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo we wrote this thing years ago and just never quite finished the end of it. But here it is, four years later. Finally.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: this fic includes allusions to ageplay and use of the word "Daddy" for a sexual partner. It also includes mentions of past child sexual abuse and past partner abuse.

Juice can’t help but notice the looks of Clay’s friends, especially when they won’t stop noticing him.

Usually the flirtation stays just casual. After a few months Juice gets used to it enough that he can even tell who is genuinely hitting on him and who’s just doing it because that’s how they act. The guys like Juice’s muscles, his smile, his tattoos, and they’re not shy about telling him, which is nice if a bit embarrassing. After a while it’s weirdly the same as it was with the Sons: there’s lots of grab-ass, slaps on the back, and play-fighting which never lead anywhere else, except that with Clay’s friends, when everybody jokes about being gay, it’s because they actually are.

Jimmy and his string of big muscular boyfriends are in and out of the house with fair frequency, and sometimes Clay brings Juice and Gemma to visit them too. Usually a few of the other male Crusaders are there too, big men built like Clay who smoke cigars together out on Jimmy’s porch. Clay lets Juice try a few of his Havanas, but Juice just can’t get into them. This makes all the men laugh and gets Juice a kiss on the mouth from Clay. “It’s okay, babe, you don’t have to like Daddy’s bad habits.”

But Juice notices one of Clay’s friends in particular. His name is Clark and he always makes a point of talking to Juice. He’s got kind eyes, reddish-tan skin from being out in the sun, and bright pink burn scars all over his forearms and hands. He apparently works as a welder in Berkeley somewhere but you’d never know that by the way he dresses when he’s off the clock. Juice thinks the man looks a little like George Clooney in understated grey and blue sweaters, well-cut jeans, and tasteful dark brown facial scruff that’s just starting to feature a hint of white.

Juice tries hard to seem cool to Clark, but he always feels hopelessly out of his league. Clark went to Harvard apparently, and can discuss just about anything and seem like a badass doing it. And yet he also has a super manly job--what’s more masculine than working with burning metal?

One night in late fall they’re out on the patio Juice helped build and Clark’s seated on a bench beside Juice. With several beers already in him, Juice is warm-faced and smiling even despite the early chill of the season. California temperatures are nothing compared to New York weather anyway.

Clark’s leg is solid and hot against Juice’s thigh, the cable-knit of his sweater soft on Juice’s bicep. He’s been telling Juice about his favorite authors, none of whom Juice has ever heard of. He’s never read much, but he might look up a few just to see, because if Clark thinks they’re good then they’re probably amazing. Out on the lawn, the smoldering tips of cigars glow in the dark. Even Gemma’s got a clove between two fingers, a vice which Juice has learned she only indulges a few times a year.

“Juice,” Clark says quietly, then. “I’ve been wondering if you might be interested in coming out on a date with me sometime.”

Juice freezes, suddenly aware of the cold. There’s been plenty of jokes about passing around Clay’s hot new boy to get him broken in, but Clark has never made them and Juice had figured they were just jokes. He’s not actually going to be passed to around to Clay’s friends like a party favor, is he? And what in the hell is someone like Clark doing hitting on someone like him anyway?

“You’d, uh--you’d have to ask Gemma and Clay,” Juice manages after a pause that’s at least a second too long.

Rather than seeming put off, Clark merely smiles. “Of course. But I didn’t wanna jump the gun and ask them before you, y’know? You’re not a toy I want to borrow.”

“Yeah, that’d be--yeah, of course not,” Juice stumbles. _Dammit, man, pull yourself together,_ he tells himself, but he has no idea what to say instead of mumbling so he just shuts up. He’s thought about sex with other people, yes--including Clark--but it’s never occurred to Juice to do anything about it. Between Clay, Gemma, their toy drawer, and getting his cast off, Juice hasn’t exactly been hard up.

“Want me to?”

“What?” Juice asks, pulling himself away from his thoughts.

“Ask Gemma and Clay. I could take you out Thursday night, if you’re free, and show you my place afterward.”

“That’s--wow yeah, sure, that’d be--yeah?”

Juice gets a blinding smile and a quick stroke under the chin with one finger. Then Clark’s up and crossing the lawn, neatly inserting himself into the cluster of people there. Sweat breaks out along Juice’s hairline and along his sides. He can’t believe this is happening--maybe Clark is joking and a minute from now they’ll all be laughing about how Juice is easy to fuck with? It’s the kind of thing the Sons would have done. But Juice knows before he even finishes the thought that Clark is not like that.

A few minutes later, Clark returns with a smug smile. He sets down his bottle beside Juice on the bench, looks at Juice’s mouth for a long moment, and before Juice can say anything stupid they’re kissing.

It’s brief, Clark’s mouth absurdly soft against Juice’s. And then Clark pulls away, running a finger along Juice’s throat again.

“I gotta get to bed, I’ve got work tomorrow. Pick you up at seven on Thursday?”

“Whuh--yeah, uh. Yeah?”

With another quick kiss the man’s gone, showing himself out through the house. Juice stares after him with wide eyes and his mouth still open, the sensation of Clark’s lips impressed upon his brain.

He glances over at the group of people on the lawn and Clay gives him a grin and a huge thumbs-up. Juice’s stomach clamps tight, and all the sudden he doesn’t want any more beer.

**

Clay and Gemma tease him about it for the next two days. “You managed to get a date with Clark, everyone and their husband is gonna be jealous of you. He doesn’t date often!” “Somebody’s got an admirer.” “Gonna show him all the hot things Clay taught you?” Juice grins at all of it, blushing, but privately he wonders why they’re not jealous, or if they are, why they’re hiding it so well. Aren’t they scared that he’ll leave them? Don’t they care that he might decide he likes Clark better? Aren’t they worried at all?

Among all the jokes and nudging and grins, one serious conversation does arise, but even that isn’t what Juice expects. “You’re new to this, and to us, so you should know Gem and I have ground rules. We’ve used them for a long time and they haven’t failed us yet, so they should probably work for you too. It’s like this--if any of us do anything with anyone who isn’t us, we use condoms. Clark is trustworthy and has a reputation for honesty, so we don’t need to worry about him having something and not telling you. Gem and I also try to let each other know as soon as possible when we’re thinking of sleeping with someone else. Sometimes that’s the next morning because things happen and you don’t wanna interrupt hot sex to make a phone call. We just try to keep one another on the level, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Juice stumbles, because this is all so foreign. It was easier to understand when it was just the three of them--Clay and Gemma are married, they’re a unit, so dating them both made a kind of sense. Juice had figured it wasn’t that weird after all because he just slotted neatly in the middle, picking up any slack between them. But this? This makes no sense. Clark is a friend of a friend, not someone they’re very close to. And they’re certainly not dating him. And they’ve only been with Juice himself for maybe five months, so how can they be this chill about it? He’s only just finished moving in!

But it’s like the idea that there might be something to worry about never even occurs to them. They don’t make him promise to come back afterward. They don’t even ask him to keep his ring and dogtags on. It’s almost insulting how unconcerned they seem to be, like they can’t wait to get rid of him. On Thursday Gemma helps Juice pick out an outfit, and when Clark arrives on his own bike, Clay sends Juice off with a wave and a kiss at the front door like Juice is just going on any household errand.

He sits behind Clark, hands wrapped tight over the man’s belly, and stews over all this. He’s still self-conscious being seen riding backseat to another man on a motorcycle in this neighborhood, but none of the neighbors have complained, so he supposes it must be different around here from where he grew up.

The restaurant Clark has picked is a classy Thai place--candles on the tables and everything, so the lighting is dim and romantic. Juice tugs at the cuffs of his collared shirt as he seats himself, uncomfortable wearing nice clothes and out in public with this nice man. The smell of curry hangs heavy in the air and makes his mouth water. That, in combination with his sweating hands, mean that Juice feels downright watery. And it only gets worse when partway through the dinner Clark reaches across the table to take Juice’s left hand, stroking over Juice’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re so unbelievably sweet, Juan,” Clark says, his voice low and chesty and soft with emotion. “I’m really glad you came out with me tonight.”

Juice stares at him in shock. Since when do men other than Clay, especially men like Clark, talk to him like this? But all Juice can think about is how damp and unpleasant his fingers must be. So he smiles awkwardly, ducking his chin, and says something about being flattered. This is why he was never any good at keeping women, he figures; they wanted a man more like Clark, who is able to say things like that without crying or going red or sweating or stumbling over his words or making an ass out of himself and running away. Unlike Juice. Too bad Clark doesn’t like women, really.

When they get back to Clark’s apartment, Juice has the jitters so badly that the curry feels like it’s trying to escape back out his mouth.

Clark, always observant, notices at once. “You okay, gorgeous?”

“Yeah, yeah I just--I’ve never been with a man other than Clay, and till them two I was always... faithful?” It’s the wrong word and he knows it but he can’t remember what else to call it. It pops out of his mouth and he bites his lip, regretting it at once.

Clark’s face softens, and for a moment it occurs to Juice that Clark might actually be nervous too.

“Do you need me to go slow? I’m used to guys who just wanna jump in bed.”

Juice laughs awkwardly, thinking of how fast he ended up sleeping with Gemma and Clay.

“No, no, I mean--I don’t know? God, I’m sorry, I’m the worst date ever--”

This just gets a chuckle and a warm, dry hand wrapped around the back of Juice’s neck. Clark presses their foreheads together, and all Juice can think about is how close he is to this man who isn’t Clay.

“You’re nothing of the kind, babe, believe me. I wish I had a dozen more like you.”

Juice laughs, certain that it’s rude to be still thinking about Clay when he’s probably about to kiss Clark--and then they _are_ kissing, only this time it’s real kissing, soft and wet and intimate.

….only now all Juice can think about is how different this is from Clay and Gemma, and how perfect they each are in their own ways. Clark doesn’t quite have Gemma’s rough aggressiveness nor Clay’s slow self-assurance. Juice continues because he likes Clark, and because if he’s dating a married couple then surely he’s supposed to date other people too? That must be how this works.

Clark’s gorgeous, Juice reminds himself. He should be so lucky as to have a classy fuck like him macking on Juice like he’s actually worthwhile. _Get with the program!_ Juice tells himself. But despite how gorgeous Clark is and how silky his lips are, all Juice can feel is a clinical detachment about the kiss. He has to struggle to remember how to move his mouth in response to this kind of contact, and more than ever he feels the ring on his finger and the dog tags around his neck. He keeps wishing Gemma were here to tell him how to do this right, because clearly if it’s feeling like this he’s somehow doing it wrong. He has to be.

After a while he notices his breath coming short so that he’s panting into Clark’s cheek, which he can only assume means he’s turned on even if he doesn’t feel very aroused. But with the other man’s body pressed up against his, he knows he isn’t hard even though Clark is.

“You’re so fine,” Clark murmurs in Juice’s ear, and Juice smiles automatically at the words, trying hard to figure out how to make this feel good.

“Maybe I can blow you?” he offers, because he loves giving head and he doesn’t need to be hard to do it. He wouldn’t need to be hard to get fucked, either, but Clark might notice and be offended then. He reaches down for the buttons of the other man’s jeans, but Clark stops him.

“I love the idea but you’re shaking, babe, and I know what a hard dick feels like in slacks and that’s not what you’ve got. You okay?”

“Fine,” Juice protests, but it’s really hard to breathe now, and he can’t meet Clark’s eyes. “I must just be kind of nervous--”

Clark gives him this weirdly kind look, brows drawn up into a peak over his nose and eyes gentle and pitying. Then he sighs.

“I’m your second man ever, that can be a lot for a guy to handle. How about we slow this down a notch?”

Juice nods, relief loosening his chest at once so that he can take a deep breath at last. They end up cuddling on the couch instead, and they watch a movie. Juice listens, and by the time Clark drives him home untouched Juice is almost calm again.

Clay and Gemma both greet him when he comes in, smiling from where they’re reading together on the couch. _Reading,_ Juice thinks bitterly, _like they didn’t even care that I was out kissing another man and offering to blow him._

“So how was it?” Clay asks with a grin that’s all mischief, blue eyes alight. Gemma, her feet tucked under Clay’s legs, lifts her eyebrows at Juice and pushes her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose.

Juice fakes a smile. “It’s--it was--” is all he gets out before emotion swells huge and sudden under his diaphragm. He can’t breathe and tears start from his eyes. Dizziness washes over him in a wave and he leans back against the door, turning away.

 _Goddammit,_ he thinks. _Can I never do better than this? They’ll leave me, they’ll realize at last what a mess I am and how wrong--_

“Don’t make me do it again,” he begs, knees crumpling under him so he slides down the wood as he wipes frantically at his eyes, as if he has any chance of hiding anymore. “I know there’s something wrong with me but I don’t want to do it again, please don’t make me--”

They’re up off the couch and beside him in a second. “God, Juice--what happened? Did he hurt you?”

Juice shakes his head at once, hands trembling uncontrollably as he grits his teeth, trying to force whatever this is back down. Clark is gorgeous and so intelligent and obviously very kind and he doesn’t want anyone thinking ill of the man.

“No, no, of course not, I just--” he tries to wipe his face, but the shaking makes it almost impossible and it takes several passes.

“What on earth’s the matter, then?”

“I’m sorry,” is all Juice can get out, because he wants them to care about him like he cares about them and he doesn’t want them to leave him and there’s obviously something wrong with him and they’ll know, any minute now they’ll figure it out, so he might as well just say it. “I tried, I tried really hard and I _know_ I’m supposed to want that but I don’t want anyone but you two so please don’t make me be with anyone else I only want _you--”_

And then he realizes how he sounds and closes his eyes, waiting for them to be angry, or disappointed, or upset. Waiting for them to tell him to leave.

“Juice, you don’t have to date anyone else,” Gemma says after several seconds of tense silence. “Did it seem like you had to?”

He has no idea how to respond to this--because yes, he’d gotten that impression, but they might be angry if he says that.

“We thought you liked Clark?” Clay says, and his bafflement is clear in his voice.

“I do,” Juice protests, cramming his fists between his knees to steady them and turning his face away. “He’s great, I’d have to be an idiot not to like him, but he’s not--” he opens his eyes for a moment, just briefly, to look at them, before he drops his gaze again and blinks away the tears. “He’s not you. I’m in love with _you_ and it felt so wrong.”

He’s only just realizing it now, remembering the way his body froze up as soon as Clark touched him.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” he repeats again, quieter this time. “I just want you to want me back, I don’t want to have to leave you--”

“Juice, baby,” Clay sighs, and pulls him up against the big steady chest. “Juice. We’re not gonna leave you, okay? You don’t have to date anyone else if you don’t want to.”

Clay’s stubble scratches Juice’s forehead as he talks, and Gemma makes a noise of discomfort as she seats herself on the tiles of the entryway floor, but they stay with him till the shaking passes. Like they really care. Like they really want him.

**

Telling Clark that he just can’t handle dating anyone else is hard. It’s terrible hearing the disappointment in the man’s voice, seeing it in those serious eyes. Juice knows, absolutely _knows_ that he fucked this up just like he fucks everything up, and it scares him, because if he could do this to a man like Clark what’s to stop him from ruining things with Clay and Gemma too? But Clark just nods, and pushes his hands into the pockets of his classy jeans, and says “If you change your mind, you’ve got my number.”

But Juice knows he won’t. He already has everything he wants.

**

Two months pass, two blissful months in which Juice remodels their kitchen and wakes up beside them and can’t believe he could get so lucky. And then Clay returns from a day-long ride with the Club, grinning and sunburnt and smelling of dirt and hay. Juice would have gone too, but he hadn’t been able to get out of work in time.

“How was it?” Juice asks, standing at the sink elbow-deep in soap bubbles and half turning for a kiss. Gemma’s still out in the garden, pulling the weeds that have sprouted after the first fall rains. Clay’s bulk settles against Juice’s back, pushing him up tight against the counter.

“Great. Marcus took all the goats away in his truck, he’ll get ‘em sorted out with the animal control people tonight. Asshole owner wasn’t even there, we think he saw us coming and left out the back of his property. And since the barn was empty and Matilda showed up today, I figured we might as well celebrate.”

A tremor goes through Juice’s belly, an awful thought springing into his mind--but he tells himself he’s being stupid and that Clay is always reminding him not to think the worst of him and Gemma. “Celebrate?” Juice asks, rubbing at a particularly recalcitrant piece of residue on the interior of a pot.

“Yeah. Haven’t seen her in months, she was away in Europe seeing her girlfriend. Had a condom in the compartment of my hog and I fucked her so hard she squirted down my leg. Dried off on our way home, but after so many panicked goats I gotta wash these jeans anyway....”

Cold washes over Juice from hands to scalp like plunging into deep water. It’s as though the floor has collapsed under him and a whole dark ocean was waiting underneath.

“You--fucked her--?” he chokes out. “I didn’t--didn’t even know you liked her--”

Clay must hear the tone in Juice’s voice, or feel the stiffness in his unresponsive body, because the big hands at Juice’s hips go limp.

“Shit, wait, is this the first time I’ve been with anyone else since you? Shit. I didn’t think, Juice, I’m sorry, Gemma and I have done it so often I just--”

It’s like being torn between two extremes--half of Juice wants to curl up against Daddy’s belly and sob, the other half of him can’t stand the idea of his man touching him with some woman’s cunt probably still on him. Juice pushes hard with his elbows so Clay backs off, then wipes his hands on his shirt before crossing his arms and stuffing his hands between his ribs and his elbows. He stays facing away, looking out over the garden instead of at Clay.

“Did you even think of me? Do you even want me at all?”

“What--Juice, of course I do, it wasn’t about that!”

“Then what was it about!” Juice shouts, spinning to glare at Clay. “I’ve been with you half a year! You tell me that I was _made_ for you and Gemma, that you were just _waiting_ to be my Daddy and you didn’t even know it, that I’m _perfect_ for you--but you fuck some other woman without even stopping to think how I’d feel! Did you even stop for _five seconds_ to think of me!”

Clay’s face goes hard and blank, eyes narrowing, and Juice sees him pull back. It’s as though the familiar face is suddenly just a mask and the loving person behind it has gone away. It’s eerie when Clay plants his hands on his hips and just watches Juice, one eyebrow raised in what Juice can’t help but take as a challenge. He accepts it, because his chest hurts so badly he can’t breathe and his arms are buzzing with energy.

“Are Gemma and I not enough for you? You can’t even keep up with _us_ some weeks, how could you possibly want more? Is there something Matilda does that we don’t do? That _I_ don’t do? You could have just asked me! Or you could have just _kept your dick in your goddamn pants like any decent fucking man!”_

Clay’s mouth tightens but his face remains otherwise blank. His gaze travels Juice’s frame as if sizing him up. “Are you done?”

For a second this screws Juice up so tight inside that he nearly hauls off and punches Clay--but then it’s like the tension snaps inside him. His eyes go wide and he sags, taking a step back as if Clay has physically pushed him. All at once it’s terribly clear that Clay doesn’t care. Stopped loving him at some point, and so of course he went and fucked someone else. Clay is just the same as all those other men who left Juice’s mamá and he doesn’t love Juice and maybe not even Gemma. And why should he? Clay is a man who can have whoever he wants whenever he wants and Juice is just a broken little boy without a father. Nobody has ever wanted him for long.

“Oh,” Juice says quietly. “Oh. That….was stupid of me, wasn’t it.” He doesn’t say, _To think that this could be my home for good._ He doesn’t say _To think that any Daddy would ever want me really._ It’s finally happened here too--they always leave sooner or later. Always.

“Yes it was,” Clay states, his voice low and angry. “I thought you knew me better by now, or would have at least let me explain myself before unloading like that.”

“It’s okay,” Juice whispers. “You don’t have to explain anything. I--I get it. It’s fine.”

The first tears creep down his face then and he presses his lips together. More than anything now he wants Clay--Daddy--to hold him and tell him it’s fine, that they’re fine, that everything is okay. But of course Clay won’t do that anymore, now that he’s gotten tired of Juice and moved on to someone new. So Juice just nods, once, and walks himself down the hall before shutting himself into the spare bedroom. He can’t bear to see the bed where he’s slept with Clay and Gemma for months.

Every moment he expects Clay to come for him to explain why he’d want some woman other than Gemma, to tell Juice what he could have done that would have been good enough to make Daddy stay this time. Juice had expected to have some kind of warning before the end--the men his mother had dated always started drinking more heavily before they left, or had money troubles or started shouting and hitting Mamá, or stopped having sex with her, or something. There had always been something. Juice lies on the bed wildly searching his memory because surely there must have been something this time too, some way he could have known and prepared himself. But he can’t think of anything, and that’s the worst thing of all, that there are still ways men can hurt him that he doesn’t understand and can’t predict. Gemma’s been as happy as ever, and only two days ago Juice had been off work and Clay had taken him shopping for toys. He’d stayed little for almost twelve hours straight, and he’d never felt happier. And the week before that, when Clay’s hands had been hurting so much that even the cortisone didn’t help, they’d gotten high together and gone out into the backyard so Clay could teach him the constellations. Thinking of it, Juice can almost still feel Clay’s arm heavy around his shoulders, the worn hand trembling against his arm as Clay pointed out Orion and Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper.

But this time Daddy doesn’t come--there’s silence from up the hall until Juice finally hears the door onto the porch slide open. Clay’s gone outside to talk to Gemma instead. She’s probably used to this already, she must be.

 _Maybe it was my fault,_ Juice thinks. _Maybe it was that day we spent together. Maybe after all nobody wants someone like me. I wanted too much and he got tired of having a kid for a partner and wanted an adult instead. But why couldn’t he at least have stuck to Gemma? Why would he even need anyone else?_

Juice has no answer for this. He can’t imagine wanting anyone more than he wants Gemma and Clay. They get him like no one else ever has--or at least, he’d thought they did. It’s been hard enough dealing with how much older they are, knowing that with them it can’t be forever even if everything goes well. But he’d thought he’d have longer than six months. Even his ex-girlfriend had managed longer than this before getting bored of him.

Juice lays himself out on the spare bed by inches--first he just leans against the post to hold himself up because his limbs are so heavy, then he wants to hide his face in the covers, then he just can’t fight gravity anymore, and before he knows it he’s curled up around one of the pillows with his eyes closed as the salt water crawls down his face.

His thoughts inch by inside him, weighted down with the same despair that’s pulling his body deeper and deeper into the mattress. Ponderously he wonders if he should leave--call Kyle and ask to stay with him until he can find a new place to live. But he can’t make himself move, not even to dig his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. And with that his thoughts just stop and he lies there empty.

An unnamed amount of time passes that way till finally the door onto the porch drags open again, clearly audible down the hall. Even muffled by distance and the door closed behind him, Juice can make out Clay’s voice and then Gemma’s if not their words. Footsteps move through the house and then the front door opens and closes.

For a moment there’s silence, and then a softer tread--Gemma’s--comes down the hall. She pauses outside the door and sighs, low enough that she probably doesn’t think he can hear, before knocking.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he croaks out, his voice breaking. The latch clicks open and then the mattress sinks as Gemma seats herself on it.

“Our idiot of a partner is gonna come in and talk to you himself once he gets his damned head on straight and stops thinking he’s still in the military,” Gemma states. “But I figured it might help to hear from me first so you don’t have to sit in here freaking out like I know you do.”

“What is there to say,” Juice murmurs, resigned now. “It’s my fault, I’m too needy, that’s all.”

“Don’t do that,” Gemma snaps, exasperation clear in her voice. “We’ve told you a hundred times--!” then she takes a breath in, lets it out, and appears to think better of whatever she was going to say. After a pause she continues. “What he did has nothing to do you with you, and even less to do with how much he cares about you. He just thought with his dick again. I should have warned you but I didn’t think of it either--every few months he gets this itch to fuck someone new, or at least someone he hasn’t banged in a while. He’s done it the whole time I’ve been with him. I’m pretty sure he figures all men are like that so you’d just understand and he wouldn’t have to explain it to you like he did to me. But you’re not like that, and he should have known that. God knows you made that obvious enough after Clark.”

But Juice only sighs at this. “Clay didn’t ever say he was gonna just be with us. He didn’t ever promise, and obviously we’re not….monogamous.” The word still doesn’t come naturally off Juice’s tongue, and he keeps wanting to say ‘faithful’ instead. “I just thought--thought he would have thought of me. At least told me first. Or something.”

The snort with which Gemma greets this shows exactly what she thinks. “You would think that, wouldn’t you.”

It takes Juice a minute to figure out that this is a jab at Clay rather than him. When he does, he slowly rolls over until his hip bumps against hers and he can look up at her through bleary eyes.

“Did I mess this up?” he asks, silently begging her to say no. “I freaked out and yelled at him. I shouldn’t have, I know that, and he....went all weird.”

At this Gemma just looks sad. “You think you’re the only one with issues? Hon, he was a mess long before you were even born. You should have seen the fights we used to have--I’d get angry and he’d just shut down like that, because anytime anyone gets angry at him he’s back in the army where the only way to get through it was to tough it out and stonewall everybody. I had to learn to calm down first so he wouldn’t do that. It’s just the first time you’ve ever seen him do it because you almost never get angry.” She sighs, her hand rubbing over his side. “And you’re not the only one who gets stupid and tries to fuck up your relationships, either. Clay does it less these days because he’s had longer to grow out of it. But he still does it.”

Juice blinks up at her. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment they regard one another in silence, then she gives him a rueful half-smile. “He was fourteen years old the first time a grown man showed him how to take a cock, Juan, and from the way he talks about his family and hometown, that was probably the first time anyone ever wanted him.” Juice blinks--Clay never, ever talks about his childhood, but he does remember Clay mentioning something like that once, months ago. Gemma continues, “He literally fucked his way out of Vietnam, too, and it probably saved his life. And till he met me and Johnny, fucking was mostly what people wanted from him. I think sometimes he forgets that there are other ways to make things work out with people, and that sex can make as many problems as it solves.”

Before Juice can figure out how to respond to this, the front door opens and closes. Gemma gives Juice a gentle smile and a brief kiss beside his mouth before getting up and going out.

There’s more muffled voices in the hall and then the heavy tread of Clay’s footsteps. Juice is trying not to count them. His heart tightens up in his chest and fresh tears roll down his cheeks. He’s not ready for this. He’s still so lost and confused and he’s not ready for this to be over.

Juice doesn’t look up as the door to the spare room opens again. Curled up tight around the pillow, he wishes he could just disappear into the bed and never have to look up and see his Daddy’s disappointed face.

Clay doesn’t reach out for him. His weight settles onto the end of the bed instead and he says nothing. Juice can feel how close he is, and his whole body aches to be picked up and held. He wants to give in to the gravity of Clay’s presence and let himself be drawn into the big man’s arms and just stay there, but anger and fear are like molten lead rising up in his throat, burning and heavy. He tries to hang onto what Gemma was telling him, but with Clay right there it’s hard to think about anything.

The moment drags on until Clay sighs, a long defeated noise.

“I’m sorry, Juice.”

Juice risks a glance in Clay’s direction. The older man is hunched over, elbows on his knees, gazing down at the carpet between his feet like he’s staring into a well. He looks much older than usual, hang-dog and tired. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of how many years he has on Juice.

“I messed up. First I didn’t think, and then I got angry. And I’m no good at this shit, which just makes me angrier. But you don’t deserve this. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up or get angry again. Old habits are hard to break.” Clay heaves a sigh. “Sometimes I’m with someone fine and I just can’t imagine anyone could have any problem with it, y’know? But....you oughtta know I love you and Gemma more than anything and I ain’t gonna let that go.”

At this he stops, and a tiny thread of hope unfurls in Juice’s chest. Clay inhales like he’s got more to say, and Juice waits for the apology and the promise not to do it again, waits to be told that he’s enough and Clay doesn’t want anyone but him and Gemma, not really.

“Fuckin’ other people....I’ve been doing it for a long time, and I can’t say I regret what I did with Matilda today.”

The hope shrivels right back up again at this. Juice swallows down a sob and pulls tight into himself again. Clay’s hand lands on the bedspread beside his leg, like he meant to touch Juice and thought better of it.

“Look it’s not about you, okay? It’s not. What I want from other people has nothin’ whatever to do with how much I love you. I regret going off half-cocked like I did, not calling you first, not warning you it might happen. But I have needs and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

The blankets shift under Juice as Clay balls them up in his fist, pulling them tight.

“I should have done this differently. Shoulda warned you first, told you it was only gonna be a one-off, that it didn’t mean anything.”

“But it would though,” Juice murmurs, interrupting. “It can’t not mean anything. It means I’m not enough. You and Gemma are enough for me.”

“That’s not--” Clay begins, and stops himself. “That ain’t what it means at all.”

“Isn’t it?” Juice turns onto his back, wiping his cheeks again and looking up at Clay. Clay’s not looking at him, though. “If I’m enough--if me and Gemma are enough--then why did you even want it at all?”

At this Clay turns to look at him, his blue eyes hard and cold. After a horrible two seconds they soften, and Clay rubs his face.

“Do you need me to quit fuckin’ around or what?” he asks after a pause. “I ain’t never done that for nobody, but for you I’d probably try.”

 _Yes_ is the word trapped in Juice’s throat, but it doesn’t feel like he has a right to say it. _Yes, just let me and Gemma be enough. Don’t leave us._

“I’ll do anything,” Juice says instead. “Whatever you want. You can fuck me wherever you want. If you need me to come with you when you’re with the Crusaders so you can have me there, I don’t mind, I’ll figure out a way to do it around work.”

Clay makes a face like Juice has said something disgusting. “No, no Juice, that ain’t--no. Fuckin’ hell.”

Juice curls in tighter on himself. Knowing that he repulses Clay feels like being stabbed. But he tries again, because he’s desperate.

“I can’t do some of the things she did, I know that. I don’t have a pussy and I can’t....but whatever else. I’ll be enough, I promise.”

“Goddammit,” is the only response from Clay. Juice’s heart thunders under his breastbone, and he doesn’t dare breathe. “Fuckin’ hell, Gemma’s right. I messed this up real bad, didn’t I. Stuck my dick right in it.”

Juice doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do to make this right so Clay will keep on loving him. Everything he says just makes it worse.

“I don’t want you to change, babe,” Clay says at last. “I like you just the way you are. That’s the point. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you, you don’t need fixin’.” Clay straightens, pushing his hair back--it needs a trim. “I mean, what kind of Daddy would I be if I tried to make my little boy do something like that? You’d lose your job if you were always following me around just to make sure I don’t fall into any tail.”

“Better than losing you,” Juice mumbles, face buried in his hands. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Clay staring at him but he can’t bear to look up again.

“Okay,” Clay states. “Okay. I get it. I’ll....I’ll stop, just for you.” His voice goes deep and angry again for a moment, but he pauses and inhales. “We’ll try it for a couple months, see how it goes. I mean, you’re right, it’s not like I’m exactly starving for sex here at home.”

At those words Juice goes dizzy with relief--but there’s a nasty voice whispering to him at the back of his mind that he’s asking too much, only delaying the inevitable. Either he loses Daddy now or he loses Daddy later. Still, the idea that he doesn’t have to worry about Clay fucking anyone else for at least a little while is already helping him breathe easier.

“Will that be okay? Will it cause trouble with that woman?”

Clay moves just slightly, sitting back like he’s surprised. “What, Matilda? Hell no. It was just a casual fling, we’re barely even friends.”

Letting go of his last bit of held breath, Juice gives in to the urge to throw himself into Clay’s arms. He drops the pillow, turning on the comforter so he can wrap himself onto Clay’s side. The big arms come up around him automatically, one palm wrapping under his ribs and the other along his chin.

“Hey, sweet thing. Hey.”

**

Two months later, Juice is digging up the vegetable patch in the side yard, planting new seeds, when he hears voices from the kitchen window nearby. It only occurred to him recently that he has a yard and a garden now and could theoretically grow things in it. He’s so busy thinking about tomatoes and chard that it takes his brain several moments to begin to parse the words and give them meaning.

“Don’t seem right,” Clay murmurs, voice muffled through the window. “I just feel like good shit is gonna pass me by, you know? I ain’t gettin’ any younger, how much longer are people even gonna want to hook up with me?”

Juice tenses, blinking into the damp earth and mulch. But he just keeps hammering at the ground with his shovel--the hard California dirt is like a brick, and has to be softened with water and then smashed apart. Only now he’s digging a little slower, trying to overhear.

“Clay,” Gemma groans. “Fuck’s sake, it was Richard who asked you, you’ve been with him before. Said he wasn’t that great, even.”

Juice is not supposed to hear this.

“I know, but every time’s different. And what if I meet someone new? What if--”

“What if it freaks Juice out enough that he leaves? You’re asking the wrong what ifs.”

“I just don’t get it,” Clay replies. “You don’t kick up a fuss about it when I get my dick wet elsewhere, because you know it don’t mean nothin’. Why can’t he get it?”

“I flipped my lid every time you did it for years, remember? We had the same fight a hundred times.”

“You got over it.”

“Yeah, because I realized you’re too dumb to change. Hasn’t killed me yet, you’re right, but c’mon, Clay.”

Juice kneels to pull up weeds. He hadn’t realized Gemma had used to feel like that too.

“Ain’t any different from me getting take-away if I’m out all day,” Clay explains. “Yeah, maybe you cooked something at home, but I’m not there to eat it. You wouldn’t fuss about that.”

“Thanks for comparing me to food, you jerk. And it is different. For one, meat and potatoes don’t sit at home wondering if you’re still going to want to eat them tomorrow. Juice does. Remember how he’d just up and offer to leave every time something went wrong those first few months? He’s got a long history of not being wanted and he’s not gonna get over it right away just because we made goo-goo eyes at him and gave him some jewelry to wear.”

“It’s not about him,” Clay repeats. Juice has a little pile of weeds now. Gemma and Clay don’t use this part of the garden very much, so it’s all dirt and weeds--and poppies during the right time of year, they grow everywhere given half a chance.

“Yeah, not to you. But for him it is. Get that through your thick skull. For him, it _means_ something that he keeps himself for us. It means something that we meet his needs. No, don’t start, I can see you thinking it--he meets your fucking needs, Clay. You don’t need jack shit that he and I don’t provide. All you can get from other people is the reminder that you’ve still got it.”

“Ain’t that important enough?”

Juice’s hands start shaking, but he gathers the weeds into a pile and moves them away from the patch he’s digging up.

“Clay. Get that from him. Get that from me. _We_ look at you and show you you’ve still got it. You don’t need every friend you have and stranger you meet to show you you’re sexy. You’re way past fifty and you snagged yourself a boy so hot that everyone we know is jealous. When are you gonna take _that_ in?”

At this Clay goes quiet. _In-out,_ Juice reminds himself. _Breathe. In-out, slow._ He breaks up the earth with his hands. Maybe he’ll get vegetables to grow, or maybe the poppies will take over everything again come spring. That wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m just scared,” Clay admits at last. “Don’t even know what I’m scared of. Just....feels like if I quit for good, I’ll die.”

“So don’t quit. Just specialize. If you wanna feel like you’re the biggest stud in the room, I guarantee you that boy will be happy to help. I might even pitch in myself.” Clay laughs at this. “Or hell, if you will literally lose your mind if you don’t keep it in your pants, make it a once-a-year thing. Arrange something special, I’ll stay at home with Juice. Warn him in advance, let him know who it is. It won’t kill him to sit through one evening, just like it won’t kill you to say no. There are other options.”

Juice doesn’t like that idea at all, but he has to admit that it’s better than wondering if Clay will come home any day and announce there’s been someone else.

Maybe Clay nods, because the conversation ends there. Juice is almost glad the earth here is so hard, because it gives him an excuse bash and stab it with his shovel.

**

**_Four months later_ **

 

Clay does up the buckles on his boots as Gemma finishes tying the last knot on Juice. He squirms, curious, testing the hold of the ropes.

“So I’m gonna stay like this until Clay gets home?”

“Yeah, baby. And I’m going to be right here the whole time with you,” Gemma says, running a hand over his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, to give Clay something to grab when Juice goes down on him.

“Yep, in our bed. Exactly where you belong.” Clay leans in and plants a scratchy kiss on Juice’s head and then a deeper, softer one on his mouth that doesn’t last nearly as long as Juice wishes it would.

He fidgets. He feels silly being tied up like a disobedient dog, but it’s also a relief, because surely Gemma and Clay wouldn’t go to all the trouble of trussing him to their marriage bed if they’re just going to kick him out? He still clings to thoughts like this, reminds himself that it’s his toothbrush on the bathroom sink and his clothes folded neatly in the dresser Gemma bought for him and he assembled. And right now, it’s Gemma who’s gonna stay with him in the bedroom with his limbs bound up tight so that she has to do everything for him.

Gemma’s presence doesn’t erase the reason it’s necessary tonight, though. Juice hates that Clay is going out tonight, meeting up with one of his friends to....well. Juice doesn’t know specifics, and he doesn’t want to, except for how he also really does. Until now, with Clay all dressed up in his leathers, Juice had still hoped that he could be good enough to convince the older man not to go. As Clay strokes a thick thumb down Juice’s cheekbones and looks at him with curious eyes, all Juice can think is _I’m not good enough to keep Daddy here_.

Pulling away, Clay kisses Gemma goodbye too and disappears through the doorway. Juice can only listen to Clay go, listen to the front door closing. At that the sick, empty feeling in the pit of Juice’s belly that he’s been trying to control gets the better of him. He grits his teeth, tightening his throat so the feeling can’t rise up and escape through his eyes.

Gemma, seated beside him on the bed, gives him a look that says she knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s you and me together until Clay gets home.”

Juice nods, holding on too tightly to let out a sound. But tight as he’s holding, a tear escapes and rolls down his cheek anyway. It’s not the most humiliating thing he’s done in front of Gemma, but right now it feels like yet another failure.

Gemma caresses his cheek, brushing the tear away in the same motion.

“There are so many things a woman can do with a tied-up boy, but I get the feeling you’re not in the mood for that,” she says with a resigned smile. Looking up at her with wide eyes, Juice shakes his head and adds another failure to the pile.

“You’ll just have to keep me company while I read. Carrie decided that she doesn’t want to be the only one suffering through that Fifty Shades garbage for the book club, so I’m taking one for the team and now you can too. The safeword is ‘inner goddess’.”

Sending a look at her, Juice lifts an eyebrow. When he’d read it two years ago, he hadn’t known enough about anything to get that it was all a bit silly. He’d known the writing was bad, he could tell that much, but now he thinks over it, thinks about the ways Gemma and Clay and their friends behave, the whole thing seems rather improbable.

“Really?” he says in a skeptical tone.

“Yes really, babe. You ready for some heaving bosoms and really bad consent? Because I am, damn Carrie and her stupid book club. I’m gonna go in this month and tear all those jokers a new one for subjecting me to this.”

He gives her a watery smile. Half an hour later, he’s biting his lip, belly pressing against the tight ropes as he laughs, and Gemma is nearly in tears with rage. An hour after that, Gemma’s soldiering on with a thunderous scowl but she can still only get through a page at a time without a growl of disgust. Two hours into the book, she throws it across the room with a shriek.

“Jesus Christ, if I were this boy’s mother I’d tear his balls off myself! Was this asshole raised in a barn? I have honest to god met goats with better manners than this!”

Juice grins up at her. “Do you really have to finish it?”

“Sisterhood dictates I not abandon Carrie to a roomful of vanilla cis women to discuss this alone,” Gemma grits out. “Apparently they’re nice people, and they picked this halfway as a joke, but goddamn. Carrie owes me such a favor for this. She’d better wash the truck or treat me to several pedicures or something.”

“Maybe we can just skip to the end?”

“You’re a genius, baby. Let’s read the last ten pages and then wikipedia this shit.”

They do, Gemma reading the summary out to Juice from her laptop. He shifts in the ropes. They’ve been adjusted several times since they started, but Clay had chosen knots that would be comfortable for long wear, so though his joints ache a little bit from being stationary there’s no other pain.

“Oh my god I just remembered that this is a trilogy,” Gemma spits, closing the laptop with a look of profound suffering. “What is _wrong_ with people?”

She looks to the ceiling, sighs, and then turns her gaze down on Juice.

“How’re you doing, babe? Still comfortable?”

He nods. Now he’s not distracted, his thoughts slide back to Clay and what he must be doing--or has already done, or is about to do. He’s met the woman Clay’s seeing once or twice, at gatherings. He knows she’s Japanese, in her forties, and has a mischievous smile. All he can think about is how her body can do things his can’t and that maybe even Gemma’s can’t, and that thus there’s nothing Juice can do to substitute for her.

“He does come back, right?” he asks after a moment of silence. “After he does this.”

Gemma lifts an eyebrow at him.

“He’d better if he doesn’t wanna lose the house and most of his savings to me in a divorce. If he ever did anything to really piss me off, you better believe I’d clean him out and he’d be left sleeping on the couches of people we know.” Gemma snorts. “But yeah, he comes back. Always has, every single time.”

Juice sighs. He trusts Gemma, but he can’t stop himself from thinking that if Clay really wanted to be here then he’d stay, and not go out at all. None of Mamá’s boyfriends had left and come back like that (except the ones who came back stinking of drink and demanding money), and none of Juice’s exes stuck around either once they found someone they liked better.

But Gemma doesn't seem worried. And Clay promised that tomorrow, they'll go see the new Disney movie that's in theaters. Much as Juice hates admitting it, he's excited to go. 

The ropes do help. It helps knowing that while Gemma tied them, Clay promised to take them off. If Clay keeps his promise, then all Juice has to do is wait and he’ll have Daddy’s hands all over him at the end of this.

 _My boy all secured. Makin’ sure you’ll still be here when I get back_ , Clay had joked, as if Juice wanted to go anywhere. Juice hadn’t laughed. But if Daddy asked him to wait, then wait he would.

“You know what this is the perfect time for?” Gemma says, putting her hand on his tightly-roped belly. “Nail polish. You aren’t gonna move around and fuck it up.”

With a wan smile Juice nods, and she gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. He can still see her through the door, rooting around in the assortment of stuff under the sink until she emerges with a bag of brightly colored little jars.

“I know you won’t let me do your hands, so what color do you want on your toes this time?”

“Something nice? I mean, something that looks good. Whatever you want to do.”

She rolls her eyes. “You do that shit every time, hon. Fine, how about a simpler choice: warm colors or cool colors? Or neutrals.”

The neutrals are boring, he doesn’t want that. She pulls out a few options for him and he looks them over.

“Red,” he says at last, because it matches the underwear he’s wearing. She lifts an eyebrow at him, reaching in with a clatter of glass and emerging with not one but six different bottles.

“Which red, honey? I’ve got lots.”

Feeling his face heat, he jerks his chin down.

“Like what I’m wearing.”

This gets an approving smile, a single jar picked at last. She pushes the little foam separators in between his toes, then gets to work. The ensuing quiet smells like a salon, and Juice hopes Clay won’t mind that when he gets home.

“You want lipstick too?”

“I....I dunno. Do you think he’d like that?”

At this her hand cups his chin. “Oh honey. What he wants doesn’t matter right now. This is for you.”

Juice has no idea what to think of that, but he doesn’t want to make a mess of Clay’s face and he’s due home in the next hour, so Juice shakes his head.

“Mascara, then?” she offers.

At this he nods, because why not. He’s no good at doing it anyway, and Gemma is. She’s gone and back again, this time bringing her makeup box. He looks up as directed, holding very still as she moves the wand over his lashes, then closing his eyes so she can paint shadow onto his lids. Once she finishes, she smudges with her fingers.

“You want a mirror?”

“Do you like it?” he asks instead, because that’s what matters, really.

Gemma smiles. Her own makeup is always good. “Yes. You’re our pretty boy. But every time you let me put makeup on you, I wanna mess it up a little.”

He can’t help the way the corner of his mouth crooks up at this. He’s in no kind of mood for sex, probably couldn’t get it up for her if he tried, but he likes the idea, and he certainly likes the memories of when it’s happened in the past.

“Goddamn, you could kill someone with those dimples, you know that?”

It’s then he hears the front door open, and his whole body tenses, pulling hard against the ropes keeping him in place.

Every noise brings hope and fear with it--the thunk of boots hitting the tiles, keys into the dish by the door, the creaking of leather as Clay moves. Then, finally, after what seems like ages, the heavy padding of feet through the dining room and down the hall.

When he comes through the bedroom door, Juice stares at him with hungry eyes. Daddy’s back, but will he still want Juice?

“You got even cuter while I was gone,” Clay says with a chuckle, kissing Gemma on the cheek before leaning down further to nuzzle at Juice, who whimpers at the first touch. “Look at you, all dolled up for me.”

“No, he’s all dolled up for himself,” Gemma corrects. “If you like it, then that’s a fringe benefit.”

Clay laughs at that and Juice doesn’t contradict her, too busy feeling the warm dry press of Clay’s lips, his whole body trying to rise up out of his restraints to wrap around Clay. The older man doesn’t smell of anything but night air and soap, not a hint of another person on him or even alcohol or cigars. As Clay kisses him again, Gemma tidies her makeup away, the pretty leather box clicking as she seals it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Clay murmurs against Juice’s mouth. “You survived, I see.”

Juice nods, breath coming high and tight in his chest, even moreso than just the ropes can account for.

“Please?” he asks as Clay’s big palm settles on Juice’s belly.

“You wanna be let out? You don’t wanna stay that way?”

“No,” he says, because it’s nice, he likes it, and he’s liked it every time Gemma’s tied him, but he can’t reach for Clay and suddenly that’s killing him. He wants Clay holding him, not ropes.

So Clay gets to work. It takes time, his hands haven’t been good this week and the rope has to be pulled slowly so it won’t take Juice’s skin with it. Clay starts with the legs, letting them loose so Juice can flex them, then the arms where they’re strapped at Juice’s sides. As soon as they’re free he reaches up, pulling Clay into him and burying his face in the man’s neck.

“Hey, hey baby,” Clay says, not even surprised, by the sound of his voice. “It’s okay, Daddy’s home again. There’s nothing to worry about, you got me back just fine and you look so pretty. Gemma was good to you while I was away?”

“Yeah,” Juice murmurs into Clay’s neck. He wants to tell Clay that Gemma was wonderful, as always, and about the shitty book they read together and all of that. But somewhere in that tumble of words he’d start talking about how much he missed Clay and doesn’t want him to go away again, and there would be tears and he’d mess it all up.

Maybe Juice tenses up, or his grip is too tight, or his breathing changes. Because Clay pulls back and looks at him, blue eyes serious and a little sad.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?” Clay asks, and then he laughs, making a joke out of it. “I live here. I’m not leaving.”

For a few moments Juice looks at him, and then turns his head to look over at Gemma. Over in the nook near the bathroom, she’s not paying any attention to either of them. She pulls her shirt off, tossing it into the hamper and dragging on one of her loose sleep-shirts instead. She runs a hand through her hair, tidying it, and then disappears into the bathroom. Juice hears the water turn on, and then the sounds of her brushing her teeth.

 _She_ isn’t worried about Clay leaving, clearly. And Clay did come back. He’s right here with his arms around Juice. He doesn’t smell like his cologne or deodorant or even sweat anymore, so he must have showered while he was there--but then he came back. That means something, doesn’t it?

“Untie the rest of the ropes?” Juice asks, indicating the harness still on his chest and hips. Clay smiles and starts working again.

Juice listens to the low buzz of the rope against itself as it’s pulled, the wet shushing noise of Gemma brushing her teeth, and Clay’s breathing. Clay got what he wanted. Juice....didn’t exactly get what he wanted, which was for Clay not to want anyone else.

Except for how Juice sort of did get that. Clay doesn’t come home to anyone but him and Gemma. Clay’s still here. Maybe _next_ time he’ll leave, but....Gemma looks soft and relaxed with her makeup off and nightshirt on as she pads across the carpet and climbs into bed at his side. She’d know if something was wrong, and she’s not acting like anything is. It'll be months before Clay does this again. And tomorrow they'll see the Disney movie together. 

So Juice curls up behind her and buries his face in her hair. And he pats the bed behind him with one arm, indicating that Clay should join them.

A few minutes later, teeth brushed and boots put away, Clay does. Juice falls asleep with Clay’s arm over both of them, wrapped up in the familiar scents of their toothpaste and shampoo.


End file.
